Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1)

by YatesNZ, Jen

  Torr started upright in his chair, mouth open, eyes wide and staring. Had he conjured her out of his vivid dreams of ancient places? Her hair was loose. Just as Gynevra had used to wear it—and Gina never did. Neither as long nor as curly, it nevertheless flowed about her shoulders in a rich, fall of wavy bronze, dancing with coppery light. There was a presence about her, a certain sense of self he didn't remember from those two brief days back in April. Then he noted the tension along her jaw, the white clutch of her knuckles about the strap of her flight bag, and the leaping sparks in her eyes he recognized as fear shining through determination. The Georgina beneath the assurance of Gynevra was as insecure and vulnerable as she'd ever been but the determination was every bit as strong in the one as it had been in the other.

  Torr found himself wanting to reach out and touch her image on the screen, imbue her with his strength, his calm. He almost smiled at himself then. His own hands were shaking!

  ‘—with my brother-in-law to Miami to see what we can do to help find the ‘Astrid’,’ Georgina said.

  A shivery jolt of apprehension shot down Torr's spine. What did she think they could do to help?

  ‘Can you tell us what you believe is the exact situation in the Triangle?’

  Her face expressionless and her cheeks pale, she said, ‘That an unknown force is holding the yacht and her crew captive. Until we understand what that force is we can't release them.’

  The reporter's eyebrows rose a little then he asked, ‘So what do you intend to do?’

  Georgina hesitated only fractionally before responding.

  ‘We ourselves can do nothing. The search operation is in the hands of the US Navy Coast Guard and we hope to—work—with them.’

  She took a slow breath. Torr knew it was to calm herself.

  ‘I'm the talker and George's the listener,’ Fran had said once. ‘Neither of us is much good at the other's role.’ He could feel Georgina’s inner panic fluttering in his stomach, could almost feel her breathing as his own. Never in his life had he felt such empathy with another human being.

  Ellen and Merryn appeared behind Georgina, and Case stepped between her and the reporter.

  ‘If you'll excuse us, sir,’ he said with elaborate politeness, ‘our flight's been called.’

  The cameras cut back to the newsroom and whatever comments the front person had to make were lost to Torr.

  Georgina needed him. The knowledge was a dancing red banner in his brain. She was hoping to—the word she'd used was ‘work’—with the US Navy Coast Guard. What kind of ‘work’ did she imagine she could do? What exactly had happened to the ‘Astrid’?

  Torr strove to hold his impatience until the News had ended then asked the three other patients in the room if anyone could tell him about the yacht missing in the Bermuda Triangle, as this was the first he'd heard of it.

  ‘Been missing for over a week now,’ offered a young guy in a wheelchair with one leg in plaster from hip to ankle, ‘and there's a whole area they can't search because of some force field that messes up all their instruments and electronics.’

  ‘Have they said what they think's causing it?’ Torr asked tersely.

  ‘There's been a bit of talk about alien spaceships and other ships and planes that have disappeared in the area,’ said an older man huddled in his hospital dressing gown. ‘If you ask me, them Yanks have no idea what's going on and it's become a bit of an embarrassment. Apparently this kind of negative force, or whatever it is, is quite common in the area but they don't know what causes it and it's never been this strong or this prolonged before. What that woman thinks she can do that the US Coast Guard can't, I couldn't begin to imagine but if you ask me, we won't see any more books written by Gould Barrington—more's the pity.’

  Torr stared at the television screen. It was as if the woman he'd seen a few moments ago had been an illusion. In her place now were soldiers carrying wounded comrades or dodging enemy fire among the shattered buildings of some Middle Eastern city. Georgina could very well have been as much an illusion as Gynevra now was. Except within him was a growing certainty her few words to the reporter, which had said nothing much at all, had actually hinted at something so immense the terror of it stilled his heart.

  With that understanding came a vision of Dogon as clear as if etched on the screen before him. Pacing the intricate red, black and white mosaics of Temple Zedalin, his mentor from ancient times was explaining how a human being has the ability to control every function of his body if he will only still himself and connect with his own central nervous center, connect and focus deeply on the desired bodily function.

  Torr closed his eyes and in his mind he too, was back in Dogon's mentorium with Gynevra and Loganda, making himself shiver, making himself sweat, then making himself bleed from the palm of his hand where there was no incision. With the same deep inner focus he concentrated on breathing calmly and suppressing all weakness or emotion, then walked back to the nursing station at the center of the ward and told the Charge Nurse he was discharging himself.

  Chapter 35

  The woman was inclined to bluster about the after-effects of prolonged fever and insist he see a doctor before he left. Having had minimal mothering in his thirty-five years, Torr had a brusque intolerance of fussing women. But he'd also learned he achieved much more when he disguised his impatience with a smile and some attempt at charm. He'd never traded so blatantly on his charisma before but he needed to be on a plane to Auckland, now.

  But no amount of charm could alter the fact the next flight to the north island was not until first thing in the morning. There was little he could do except agree to remain in hospital for one more night. He knew he was on the mend because the desire to be doing something was increasing with every minute. With grim amusement it occurred to him, that was definitely one trait he shared with Taur of Nyalda. He hated inaction but it gave him time to contact the authorities at National Park Headquarters to make provision for storing his gear until Hugh could send someone else out from England to complete the survey.

  Nearly twenty-four hours later after spending some hours with Ellen and Merryn, he boarded a flight to Los Angeles from Auckland Airport where he'd first set eyes on Gina. Nothing about the place looked familiar. He could swear he'd never been there before his arrival earlier that morning. On that day back in April he'd seen nothing but her, lost himself in the feral wilderness of her eyes; and when he’d left he’d been so busy forcing himself to move forward rather than back that he could have been in any airport in the world.

  Several thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean, Torr leant back in his seat and let his mind drift at last. There was so much to think about he scarcely knew where to begin and until this moment hadn't dared allow himself the indulgence.

  Rip van Winkel and Sleeping Beauty must have felt like this, he reflected, awakening to a world a hundred years on from when they'd gone to sleep. Sick with fever, he'd laid down in his tent and woken four days, and what felt like uncountable lifetimes, later. Physically he looked the same but in the hidden places of mind and heart he knew he'd become someone else entirely, so much more than he'd been before.

  From slitted eyes he scanned the men in the cabin with him. It had always been important to him to be a man among men. He'd believed ‘real’ men were firmly grounded in the physical and mental concerns of existence. Emotional and spiritual concerns were for women. Now he knew he'd have to do some work on his psyche because the last four days had seriously challenged his belief system. He thought of Casey Valois. The macho statement his image made to the world couldn't be any more blatant, yet the guy believed implicitly in reincarnation, spiritual guides and healing, and universal oneness. And he talked about it to anyone who showed an interest. The man seated beside him wore the tired, jaded look of the seasoned, travelling businessman and Torr tried to imagine turning and talking to him of out-of-body experiences and past lives and felt all his male defense mechanisms kick into action.

  Abrupt
ly he stood up and reached into his carry-on bag in the overhead compartment. Locating ‘The Engineer’ magazine in the side pocket he sat down to bury himself between its covers. It was just as well it wasn't important he convince anyone, he decided several minutes later, because he hadn't even convinced himself. Anyone watching would see right through his inability to focus on the page or subject matter, or to keep the silly, soft grin off his face.

  The words were a blur, the pictures blocks of alien matter. The only thought in his mind was, ‘Gina had had the same dreams he'd had’. Did it make her feel how he felt? He thought of the determined way she'd projected confidence to cover her nervousness while making her statements to the television reporter. Did she have this strange sense of being invincible, of walking about ten feet above the Earth, of being able to ‘think’ it and be there? His eyes jolted open and for a moment he stared around the first class cabin, adrenalin pumping through his body.

  ‘Would you like something to drink, sir?’ a stewardess asked. ‘We have a full range of wine and spirits.’

  ‘Orange juice, thanks.’ Macho or not, he'd not needed Merryn's warning not to drink alcohol for a while. His reserves severely stretched over the last few days, he needed to regain strength on all levels in order to support Gina while she programmed the crystal. He could still feel the sword thrust of fear slicing into his gut when Ellen had told him what Gina intended to try and do using Casey Valois to balance the energy. Was Casey's knowledge, his psychic strength great enough?

  Was his own? Did it follow that in regaining the knowledge of Taur of Nyalda he'd also regained the powers? There'd been no time to ascertain that yet, except he'd found himself almost automatically channeling healing energy to replenish his depleted physical reserves. A week ago he'd probably have offered to ‘sort’ anyone who’d suggested he'd be doing any such thing. He was still struggling with this change in his image of himself and certainly wasn't about to share it with anyone except Gina and maybe Casey Valois.

  Hell! He was a mess and a shot of whiskey was exactly what he needed. Grimly nodding his thanks to the stewardess he accepted the glass of chilled orange juice and let his mind return to the idea of apportating to Miami and amusing himself imagining the expressions on the faces of his fellow travelers as he gradually faded from his seat. But one needed to be in top physical condition to apportate. He couldn't take the risk of not getting it right, as was likely to happen the first time he tried it.

  The smile he'd felt teasing his lips threatened to become outright laughter as he considered the nature of his thoughts. That he calmly accepted the possibility a human being could apportate was interesting enough. That he was seriously considering doing it himself should have had him questioning his sanity. Yet he discovered a deep certainty within himself, that one day he would have no need of cumbersome, slow-moving aircraft. The only time he'd spend travelling would be the time it took him to think his destination.

  The hardest thing in all of this would be convincing friends and family he hadn't lost his mind. Well, not family perhaps, he thought, expecting the usual bitter twist in his gut when he thought of his brother. Their mother had died in a pile-up on the M1 when Torr had been eight and Pelham nine. Without the steadying influence of his beloved Annabel, their father had poured out his life in fast living and died nine years later leaving eighteen year old Pelham heir to the family titles and Penreath Castle in Cornwall.

  As well as a small income from his mother's estate, Torr had inherited the Penreath Dower House, quickly deciding the place was castle enough for him. The ghosts of the Dower House were much less disturbing than those of Penreath Castle. No, he didn't begrudge Pelham his inheritance. It was the arrogance with which he'd taken it up, the almost overnight change from brother to stranger that ate at his innards, if he let it. It was probably why he'd set out deliberately to spike every one of Pel's romantic attachments. It hadn't been difficult with his tall, dark looks. Pel, slightly built and fair, took after their mother. He'd been won't to say Torr's physical attraction for women wouldn't matter in the long run as he, Pelham, as Earl of Penreath, had title, land and money. Oddly enough, there was no longer any sting in the thought, just pity for Pelham who seemed set to follow their father to an early grave in exactly the same profligate way.

  Not only was he not bitter, he was grateful. He'd had to earn his living. He'd lived fast and hard for a while in his early twenties when he'd had dreams of becoming a world class racing driver. Those dreams had died with Justin Amoore in the smash that had almost taken his own life, a smash caused by his youthful and arrogant belief in his own invincibility.

  In the intervening years he'd become someone he hoped his mother would have appreciated. He'd studied, worked his way through the ranks to a partnership in an internationally renowned mining consultancy and worked in many remote and beautiful places on the planet. Now, at the age of thirty-five it seemed he'd had an experience with the same life-changing potential of that earlier accident. But where before the wake-up call had been to conformity to society values and beliefs in what constituted a successful life, now he'd been shown a touch of magic and lifted onto a plane of existence that understood nothing of conformity or the restrictive, materialistic mores of his culture. He wondered if he'd be tempted to grow his hair long or get a dragon tattooed on his chest?

  With an inner grin for the expression he imagined such an action would bring to Hugh's face, he slotted the magazine into the seat-pocket in front of him, leant his head back and closed his eyes. Resting his hands on his solar plexus he channeled the universal healing energy into his body.

  The last thought in his mind before drifting off to sleep was wonder at the ease with which he'd talked with Ellen and Merryn about his feelings for Gina, about the knowing they'd shared when they'd first met, the delirium-induced dreams he'd had which related so closely to those which Gina had experienced while being unconscious for the same four days he'd been ill. Those dreams had explained so much, even his soul-level recognition of Fran.

  There was no doubt in his mind at all that the synchronicity of it was attributable to a Divine source. Nor did he have any doubt they would succeed in rescuing the yacht and her crew. And in this lifetime he was determined, he and his ‘Golden One’ would finally discover their true potential.

  The message he'd hoped for was waiting for him at Miami Airport information desk when he arrived there in the middle of the night, having chartered a plane from Los Angeles so as not to waste time waiting for a seat on a regular flight. Gina had contacted home on arrival, been told he was coming, and arranged for him to share a room with her brother-in-law at their inn. A sleepy-eyed Casey met him at the door with an enthusiastic handshake then locked up behind him.

  ‘The landlady didn't want to stay up so I'm the night porter,’ he said with a crooked grin.

  He'd met Casey Valois only twice back in April and he remembered thinking then there was more to Merryn's tattooed bikie husband than the surface appearance of an aged street-kid, though he was at a loss back then to know what. Now, as they stepped into the lighted room at the end of the hall and the full beauty of the skin art on Case's naked back became apparent, Torr sucked in his breath. In exquisite detail, a muscular bull with huge horns pawed the ground over the scrolled legend `Right is Might'.

  ‘Hope you don't mind sharing a room.’

  Blinking the image away, Torr shrugged.

  ‘No problem.—So long as we've got a bed each,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Case chuckled.

  ‘Oh yeah, and they're very comfortable. Bathroom's down the hall, second on the right and there's a kettle and all the stuff if you want a drink,’ he said waving his hand at a small table in the corner of the room. ‘George is next door. She wanted to wait up but she's pretty exhausted from the trip and her days in hospital, so I invoked ‘big brother’ status and sent her off to bed about two hours ago. She's pretty excited by what Ellen and Merryn were telling her. Seems like you and
her had the same dreams.’

  ‘Yes,’ Torr agreed, dropping his bag on the unclaimed bed, ‘seems like we did and it also seems to me that has to be something more than a coincidence.’

  ‘Nothing surer than that,’ Case said comfortably, shucking his jeans and displaying muscular legs as beautifully tattooed as his back. ‘But I have strict instructions not to start questioning you until herself is with us. She doesn't want to miss a thing. She's—not the same woman you remember from your visit. She's—um—different,’ he muttered at last, as he slid into bed, ranging himself against the pillows with his arms behind his head.

  That makes two of us.

  Unzipping his bag, Torr said a little stiltedly, ‘I saw her on TV. I recognized her right off and yet—it was like looking at the woman she was in the dream. It was somewhat—unsettling. She's—all right?’

  ‘Yeah. She's always had a great inner strength and it's been activated and amplified by this ‘past life’ experience she's had. She's worried about Fran and Gould of course, but she's coping really well.’

  ‘That's good.’ Stripping off jeans and sweater Torr muttered, ‘I'll have to go shopping tomorrow for tropical duds. I'm dressed for the South Island of New Zealand.’

  The comment bore no relation to the topic of conversation but he needed to distract himself from the thought of Gina and Gould Barrington. Dammit, he needed to distract himself from the thought of her in bed only a room away.

  Case watched, amusement dancing beneath hooked brows.

  ‘Your turning up has thrown her into a spin though,’ he said.

  Picking up a towel from the chair by his bed, Torr slung it round his hips and asked, ‘How?’

  Case settled back against his pillow with a lop-sided grin.

  ‘At first she was determined to stay up until you arrived and argued quite vehemently with me until about eleven-thirty when she suddenly meekly agreed go to bed after all. You should understand that George is as different to Fran as moonstone is to crystal. Crystal's clear and dances with light and color and you never have any doubts what you hold in your hand. The energy it gives off is lucid, confident, strong. Moonstone on the other hand, glows with a soft inner beauty easily hidden by the flash and fire of other stones and many fail to notice it. The energy it gives off is more subtle and gentle, shy and quiet, if you like, yet in some ways infinitely more precious. George is moonstone. Usually her feelings are so intense she can't verbalize them, even to herself, I sometimes suspect. The only way she's ever dealt with that is by retreat. She's had a lot of pain in her life. Don't mess her up, Montgomery. I'd take it personal.’